Science of Attraction
by cactusnell
Summary: Molly tries science on Sherlock. How can he resist? Sherlolly


Molly Hooper was getting desperate and Sherlock Holmes was getting older. And these two facts, seemingly independent of each other, were about to collide.

Molly had been in love with the tall striking detective since the first day he had entered her lab, glanced dismissively in her direction, and starting spouting orders at her. Well, maybe not in love, but in lust, certainly. The love part came quite a bit later, after she had saved his life. And during the drug use, and the two years of his "death", the whole Janine scenario, the bullet in his liver, the bullet in Charles Augustus Magnussen's head, and the four minute exile. They were now friends, close friends. The fact that one of them was madly in love with the other, and that other seemed to be totally oblivious of the fact notwithstanding.

As mentioned before, Sherlock Holmes was, indeed, getting older, as signified by his upcoming birthday this weekend. And Molly was, in fact, getting desperate. She wanted to be noticed, not just as a friend, a colleague, an asset to his work, but as a woman. But the closest she ever got to this was the occasional kiss on the cheek, or the forehead. She had seen more passion displayed by her cat at feeding time. It may have been this thought of "passion" and "feeding time" combining in her over-excited brain which slowing planted the seed of an idea. One which would soon germinate into a full-grown, if rather unseemly, plot.

In their early days together, Sherlock Holmes would often use his charm to manipulate his pathologist into complying with his every request. A simple compliment would eventuate the delivery of fingers, toes, and various internal organs for his delectation. A smile on his cupid's bow lips would provide him with after hours admittance to her lab. Molly could only imagine what a gentle touch would have cost her! And she did like to imagine it, indeed. On many occasions, in the privacy of her room. But, enough of this. He had long since given up these manipulative tactics, but Molly still figured that he owed her. She was going to try to manipulate him for a change. And she was going to use science, or pseudo-science, to do so!

It had taken a bit of effort, but Molly had finally persuaded Sherlock to allow her to cook him a big meal for his birthday, to be served at her flat. They had shared many a meal, both there and at Baker Street, but Molly had decided that this one would be special. It had taken a bit of talking, for Sherlock was not one to celebrate birthdays, his own or anybody else's. But Molly had wheedled and cajoled until he had agreed to join her for what she termed, "a five course meal that will knock your socks off!" She did not, however, go on to explain that the socks were only the first item of apparel she intended to rid him of.

Dr. Hooper, scientist that she was, started her research immediately. There certainly was an awful lot of material on-line about the aphrodisiac qualities of different varieties of foodstuffs. Some sounded almost scientific, some was mostly folklore or old wives' tales. But Molly was convinced that there had to be some basis for the universal belief in the stimulating qualities of certain items, and was currently building a gourmet menu around her research. By the time she finished composing her menu, she certainly hoped that her detective would be hungry enough to try everything. And not just the food, either!

Sherlock appeared at Molly's flat right on time on Saturday evening. He had dressed, as usual, in a beautifully tailored suit, and a tightly fitted shirt. Molly, looking at him, was certainly in no need of aphrodisiacs! The lights were low in the sitting room, and the small table in the kitchen had been set for two, with candles and flowers.

"Molly, you needn't have gone to all this trouble…"

"Nonsense, Sherlock, it's your birthday," Molly said as she stood on tiptoes to deliver a kiss to his cheek. "Now, make yourself useful, and open the wine."

Sherlock moved into the kitchen to do as he was told. Red wine, he noted. He sniffed the bottle. A musky, earthy scent. Excellent choice, some part of his brain told him. He left the bottle on the table, and took a seat, just as Molly had directed him. When she got closer to him, he could smell the unmistakable aroma of vanilla, one of his favorite fragrances. The thought occurred to him that vanilla was believed by some ancient societies to increase lust. He chuckled a bit at this silly notion, knowing that the fact that he connected the scent of vanilla with his pathologist had nothing to do with lust. Nothing at all.

Molly was chattering about their friends, her cat, and Mrs. Hudson's hip as she placed the first course in front of him. He didn't mind at all, as he had come to enjoy Molly's chatter. Sometimes he didn't even have to understand what she was saying, just the sound of her words made him smile. It seemed that tonight was one of those occasions. He picked up a small fork to dig into his appetizer. Oysters with a pineapple vinegar dressing. Quite delicious, actually. And a strange coincidence that oysters, and pineapple, were considered by many the world over to increase the sex drive. Oysters in particular, with their elevated levels of zinc, were said to spur the production of testosterone… No! It was a coincidence, surely!

But the next course, a carrot ginger soup had him a bit concerned. The phallus-shaped carrot had long ago been viewed as a stimulant for the male of the species, often used to aid seduction. And ginger? Well, the scientist in him knew that ginger stimulates the circulatory system, sending blood hurrying off to wherever it may be needed at the moment. Sherlock was beginning to get the idea that Molly Hooper was trying to send his blood off to wherever SHE needed! And, despite the fact that the small talk continued innocently enough, he was beginning to feel a bit uncomfortable. What if he was imagining the entire thing? The meal had certainly been delicious. Molly had proved herself an excellent cook. She sat across the table from him, smiling sweetly. He found himself smiling back, and an unaccustomed warmth growing in his chest. And possible other regions. Increased blood flow?

The next course was a beautiful salad, avocado with pine nuts and almonds. Avocado. The "testicle tree", the Aztecs called it. Sensuous, smooth creamy texture. Excellent source of vitamin E, known to add in the production of sex hormones such as testerone. And pine nuts, rich in zinc, used to stimulate the male libido as far back as medieval times. He wasn't sure why the almonds were there. Their aroma was supposed to work on females only. Perhaps he was mistaken after all?

When Molly put the main course in front of him, Sherlock let loose an almost silent moan.

"What's the matter, Sherlock?" Molly said with concern. "Don't you like salmon?" Salmon! Loaded with omega 3's, proven to elevate serotonin levels, which, in turn, enhance one's mood. Packed with vitamins A, B, C, and calcium, all of which are known to, among other things, give the libido a bit of a lift. Bloody hell, what was going on? Was this all in his imagination? Was he, perhaps, projecting his own suppressed desires onto the menu choices? Molly smiled sweetly, still. But why was she running her tongue over her bottom lip? And why was he noticing? Sherlock picked up his fork to pick at the fish. Maybe he should start with the vegetable instead? Ah! Asparagus! No, no, no! And peppers? Hot chili peppers? Good lord, could the woman be so blatantly obvious? Or so innocent? He picked his way through the excellently prepared entree, reaching for his glass of wine. His dark, musky, earthy red wine…

""Sherlock, are you alright?" The small woman looked a bit concerned. Perhaps she had gone a bit overboard, but she was desperate. The man had eaten every last morsel of every presumed aphrodisiac food she could cram into her limited menu, but he was looking at her as if he were making the classic fight or flight decision. Neither of which would suit her needs! Bloody hell! Did she have to grind up some viagra and add it to his after dinner coffee? She tried to calm him by sweetly offering him some dessert. But the sight of the rich dark chocolate cake, slathered with whipped cream, and garnished with strawberries, did nothing to calm his nerves. Red, luscious, plump, juicy, strawberries, which Molly could dip in the cream and lift to her red, luscious, plump, juicy lips…

"Molly, I'm really sorry," he jumped from his seat, "but something's come up..NO!..I mean...I've got to leave. Important business! Happy birthday!"

"It's your birthday, Sherlock, not mine. And you haven't even unwrapped your gift…"

Sherlock had an image of his hands on the front of Molly Hooper's blouse, his fingers working the buttons… "NO! Sorry. Must go. NOW!" He headed for the door, grabbed his coat, and practically flew down the stairs, leaving Molly with increased levels of serotonin, lots of estrogen, a bit of testosterone, and blood flowing to various parts of her body where she certainly didn't need blood to flow at the moment. And absolutely no one to enjoy it with. She comforted herself by eating Sherlock's cake in addition to her own. And killing the bottle of excellent red wine.

Sherlock Holmes stood under his shower, cold water finally bringing an end to his discomfort. At least the physical aspect of his discomfort. He knew that he had overreacted. If the meal which Molly had prepared was completely innocent, she must think him a complete git for leaving so abruptly. If she had, indeed, as was his suspicion, been overloading him with aphrodisiacs in an attempt to seduce him, he would think of himself as a complete git. It's not as if the thought of seducing Molly Hooper had never crossed his mind. Many times! But he hated the uncertainty of what had been going on. He hated the idea of losing the initiative. He would think about it tonight, formulate a plan, and act on it tomorrow. Or not act on it. Depending on whether his reactions had returned to normal.

When Monday arrived, Molly found herself making her way through a dreary, rainy afternoon to her office at St. Bart's. She was covering a swing shift this afternoon, working until midnight. Molly had not heard from the love of her life since her abortive attempt at seduction. She had spent the previous day, Sunday, recovering from an over-indulgence in wine and chocolate, and an under-indulgence in anything else, and was just now beginning to feel human again. When she finally entered her office, she was surprised to find a beautifully wrapped gift box on her desk. She opened the card to find the simple words, "Perhaps you should try Plan B". When she unwrapped the box, Molly found a quite beautiful, and quite revealing, lace nightie. He knew! Of course, he knew! He was Sherlock bloody Holmes, after all! She picked up her mobile to text.

I HATE YOU - MOLLY

NO YOU DON'T - SHERLOCK

WHEN DID YOU FIGURE IT OUT? - MOLLY

I HAD MY SUSPICIONS BY THE THIRD COURSE. SORRY TO HAVE LEFT, BUT I WASN'T ENTIRELY SURE. THE CHOCOLATE CAKE WOULD HAVE DONE ME IN. I DIDN"T KNOW IF I WOULD WIND UP IN YOUR BED, OR IN A AND E WITH A CAKE FORK IN MY PRIVATE PARTS - SHERLOCK

WILL PLAN B WORK? - MOLLY

I GUARANTEE IT! AND YOU DID SAY I DIDN'T GET TO UNWRAP MY PRESENT - SHERLOCK

YOUR PLACE OR MINE? - MOLLY

MAYBE WE COULD TALK ABOUT MAKING ONE OF THEM OUR PLACE? - SHERLOCK

Molly smiled as she put down her mobile. God, she loved science!


End file.
